


The Merchant’s Daughter and the Silent Scotsman

by stjarna



Series: Engineering vs Biochem - 2017 (Team Engineering) [7]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Although I don't think it's all that angsty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Lovers, Engineering VS Biochem, F/M, Other AoS characters will make an appearance but are not tagged to maintain an element of surprise, Team Engineering, Tumblr Prompt, fairytale, fairytale AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 01:36:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11636220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: A Fitzsimmons Fairytale.From@leggypeggy’s Fitzsimmons Mix’n’Match Mystery Prompts:Fitzsimmons + Fairytale + Enemies to Lovers +this gifPrompted by @hermionesimmonss on Tumblr





	The Merchant’s Daughter and the Silent Scotsman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostgirl966](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostgirl966/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I do not claim any historical accuracy with regards to titles and the differences and rankings between titles of nobility and such... let's just roll with it ;) 
> 
> It wasn't easy to incorporate the gif into the fic, but I think I did alright in the end ;)
> 
> Banner by me.
> 
> Big thank you to @dilkirani for another wonderful beta and @AgentsofSuperwholocked for giving it a quick pre-read.

 

Once upon a time, there was a young woman named Jemma, the daughter of a rich merchant in a kingdom far away across the seven seas, behind the tallest mountains and beyond the deepest valleys. Her eyes were the color of amber; her cheeks rosy like the juiciest apples; her hair flowing like crops blowing gently in the breeze; and her smile brighter than the sun itself.

But while society praised her external beauty, the young maiden prided herself most on her mind, which was sharp as a knife. She was inquisitive and curious, often scolded by her wet nurse for sneaking into her father’s library to read about the works of philosophers, inventors, and scientists, rather than studying needlecraft and poetry as any good woman would.

At night, Jemma stood by her window, looking into the dark. Society expected her to gaze at the stars and think of love, to wish for a husband to call her own, to please and serve, for her loins to bear children. But in reality, when she looked up into the sky, she saw a billion wonders and a billion questions that needed to be answered about the why and the how and the what for.

It happened one day that the King announced a tournament, encouraging the brightest of the bright and the strongest of the strong—only men of noble birth that was—to compete and prove themselves in various quests. For it was that his only daughter had been taken from the castle by the evil magician Hydra, a most treacherous foe, plundering and instilling fear in the king’s lands in the form of an eight-headed monster. None of the king’s knights had been able to break through the barriers this wicked sorcerer had put up.

Thus, the king had decided to hold a tournament, to find the strongest, bravest, wisest, and most-skilled men in his country and the entire known world to form a band to defeat Hydra. He searched for the most sharp-sighted archer, the most skilled swordsman, the strongest blacksmith, the most gifted wizard, and the most quick-witted inventor. The reward, as was the custom, was to be the hand of the princess in marriage for whoever would become the leader of the heroic band, and two barrels of gold for everyone joining him.

When Jemma heard of the king’s plans, her heart swelled with joy and ambition, for our bright young hero saw her chance to prove herself, not to gain riches, nor to win the princess’s hand, but to show beyond doubt that any person—womenfolk and men alike—could achieve greatness through the sharpness of their minds.

Jemma hid her long hair under a nobleman’s hat, bound her breasts, and stole her brother’s clothes. She rode to the king’s castle, her head held high and her voice speaking low. She rode past the armed guards, and entered the tournament disguised as a man, by the name of Baron Jeremy Simmons of Sheffield.

Men from all over the country and from lands far away and mysterious had gathered to participate: knights and swordsmen, sorcerers and wizards, archers, blacksmiths, and inventors. Each to compete in their respective fields, to impress with their skills, their inventions, their magic.

The competition was fierce, but in each group, one man quickly established himself above everyone else. It wasn’t long before each class had declared a winner. An archer had been chosen, a sorcerer, a knight, and a blacksmith.

Only the place of the inventor was yet to be filled, and Jemma was working tirelessly to surpass her opponents. Most of them were rather dimwitted, the merchant’s daughter thought to herself, but one, a young, mute Duke, who kept to himself, enraged and challenged the young brilliant inventor (whose gender for once played no role as it was hidden) like nobody else. The tournament had lasted for three days already, and each day, her arch nemesis had competed most fiercely against her. Both were tied neck and neck, impressing the king and his jurors with inventions that by far outshone everyone else’s, but never quite each other’s.

On the evening of the third day, most visitors had left the science fair to join a banquet the king was holding in honor of those heroes who had already been chosen to rescue the princess from Hydra’s grasp. The inventors, however, remained in their booths, packing up their inventions for the day. Jemma thought it time to inspect what her competition had been up to. Dressed in her regular womanly garments, Jemma strolled from booth to booth. For once, the innocence and ignorance most men associated with her sex played to her advantage. Each of her competitors—who’d hidden their progress from her when she’d been in disguise—now generously explained their inventions to her, attempting to impress the beautiful maiden.

Eventually, Jemma reached her fiercest competitor’s tent, but the young mute was nowhere to be seen. Curiously, Jemma took a step inside, her eyes wandering over the Duke’s inventions. Carefully, she picked up one of the marvelous designs, anger and a hint of jealousy rushing through her body.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

As if struck by lightning, Jemma spun around, staring wide-eyed at the man in front of her, before squinting, confusion and suspicion filling her mind. “You can talk!”

“Bloody hell, yes I can talk! Now put that down!” The young Duke rushed over to where she was standing, ripping the invention from her hands and carefully placing it back on the table.

Jemma gasped with fury. “Why on earth would you pretend to be mute?”

Her nemesis scoffed, turning to his inventions and reorganizing them by size, while waving one hand to the side in Jemma’s direction. “Probably the same reason you pretend to be a man.”

The young, curly-haired man stood back up, placing his hands on his hips. “‘Cause it’s the only way to take part in this bloody tournament. ‘Case you haven’t noticed: I’m Scottish. And not the noble kind of Scottish but the share-my-bed-with-three-siblings-my-mother-and-the-pig-during-winter-so-it-doesn’t-freeze-to-death kind of Scottish.”

Jemma’s mouth hung ajar in shock and dismay. “You know who I am? You know that I—”

The Duke-who-was-no-Duke-at-all laughed, a single taunting laugh. “Oh please, maybe the other ruddy bastards around here are so bloody blind and focused on winning so they can marry the goddamn princess that they don’t recognize a woman wearing men’s clothing competing amongst them during the day only to spy on them in women’s garments at night; or maybe they’re too ashamed to admit that a woman is beating their sorry arses, but you hadn’t fooled me for as much as a second. Smart move though, spying on your competitors by simply being yourself.”

“Why didn’t you report me to the King’s men?” Jemma asked, her heart filled with a mix of rage and fear.

The Scotsman shrugged. “And take away my only real competition? Where’s the fun in that?”

Jemma looked up and down her competitor, noticing for the first time that his noble clothes were quite worn and hanging rather loosely on his slender figure. She furrowed her brows. “So you’re here to compete?”

“’Course I am. Although, I will admit that the whole concept of the tournament makes me a bit uncomfortable.” A quiet laugh escaped the Scotsman’s lips. “I mean, can you even believe this ruddy excuse of a king? Blimey, bet the princess will love the fact that she’ll go from being held prisoner by an eight-headed sorcerer to being shoved into the hands of someone who thinks a human being can be auctioned off like a trophy.”

Jemma’s mouth gaped, and angrily she gestured at the young inventor. “Well, you’re one to talk, then. Or are you telling me you’re not in this competition to win the princess’s hand?”

“What the hell would I want with a princess?” His hand flung to the side, pointing at the entrance to his tent. “The gold I’ll take, ‘cause my mum could surely use it. But I’m not here to become a leader.”

The Scotsman dug his fingers into his chest, his eyes wide-open and fiery. “I want to prove that upbringing alone doesn’t mean you can’t be meant for greatness.”

Gesturing at Jemma, he exclaimed loudly. “Isn’t that what you are here for? Prove that sex doesn’t matter? Or are you here to win the princess’s hand, ‘cause that would be quite the scandal, by my guess.”

“Oh, I don’t care about the princess,” Jemma screamed back at her rude archrival, when the next words she meant to throw at him suddenly stuck in the back of her throat.

Her thoughts started racing, and the merchant’s daughter looked at the ground before raising her guilt-filled eyes to meet those of her competitor, who looked back at her, equally repentant.

“You know, to think that a person’s life depends on it,” Jemma remarked, her voice quiet and thoughtful. “Maybe we—”

“Maybe we should be less focused on proving our points,” the young Scotsman said. “And rather—”

“—work together to save her.”

A shy smile brightened the Scotsman’s face, as he waved his hand in Jemma’s direction. “The poison you’ve developed, for which you’ve been praised so much yesterday—”

“—would be highly effective if there were a weapon strong enough to penetrate Hydra’s skin and deliver the poison, such as—”

“—the arrow I created,” the young Scotsman finished, his tone laced with contentment.

“Precisely.” Jemma couldn’t help but smile proudly, pleased with the plan they’d seemingly established.

“What’s your name?”

His question surprised Jemma, but his blue eyes seemed much softer now, establishing a sense of trust. “Jemma Simmons of Sheffield, but during the tournament, I’ve been referred to as Baron Jeremy Simmons of Sheffield.”

The young Scotsman extended his hand, one corner of his mouth pulling up into a charming grin. “Just Simmons then, maybe? I’m Leopold Fitz. Well, Duke Leopold Fitz the Third of Lanarkshire, while I’m here, but Fitz will do nicely.”

Jemma grabbed Fitz’s hand, shaking it firmly. “Well, Fitz. What say you? A partnership to prove that sex and upbringing do not matter and to save the King’s daughter from Hydra’s grasp?”

“A partnership indeed,” Fitz replied, his piercing blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

* * *

“No, no, no.” Jemma turned, blowing the feather hanging from her nobleman’s hat out of her eyesight and holding Fitz’s arrow at arm’s length. They’d been working together for two days now and had still not made any progress. “Fitz, this is impossible. In order for the poison to work, I will need to be able to put more of it into the arrowhead. I’m not a sorceress. I can’t magically render our foe immobile.”

Fitz stood with one hand on his hip, the other gesturing furiously in Jemma’s direction. “Well, you should have specified that yesterday. And moreover, it’s really quite difficult to develop a metal that’s strong enough to penetrate Hydra’s skin, yet will break easily enough once it’s entered his flesh to release the—”

The curtain to Fitz’s tent suddenly swung open and both the merchant’s daughter and the Scotsman fell silent immediately as two of the King’s men stepped inside and came to a stop on each side of the tent’s entrance, holding their spears upright in front of them.

Jemma and Fitz glanced at each other in shock, before looking back to the tent’s opening when Earl Phillip, Son of Coul, the King’s right hand man made his grand entrance, his eyes slowly wandering from Jemma to Fitz.

“Baron Jeremy Simmons of Sheffield. Duke Leopold Fitz the Third of Lanarkshire,” the grey-haired man said importantly, nodding his head at the two inventors.

“Earl Phillip, Son of Coul,” Jemma replied, lowering her voice and bowing in front of the King’s most trusted advisor. “What brings you to the humble quarters of an inventor?”

“Some of the other inventors have informed me that you, Baron Jeremy, and Duke Leopold have entered into a partnership.”

Jemma briefly looked at Fitz, who stared back at her with wide-open eyes, before she turned her attention back to Earl Phillip. “Yes, kind sir. I hope you’ll allow me to speak on both of our behalfs, seeing that my fellow competitor is mute, as you probably know.”

“Please, proceed, Baron,” Earl Phillip replied, nodding in understanding.

Jemma straightened her back, lifting her chin, and met the King’s retainer’s eyes with confidence. “We consider it our duty to ensure the princess’s safe return, kind sir. As you will have noticed, the Duke and I have been battling for the top spot in this competition, with neither of us being able to truly surpass the other. We thus decided that a collaboration would be in everyone’s, particularly the King’s, best interest.”

Earl Phillip turned his head slightly, fixing his eyes on Fitz. “Is that so, Duke Leopold?”

Fitz nodded vigorously, but remained silent to maintain his disguise.

A smile flashed across Earl Phillip’s face. “Well, I’ll inform the King. I’m quite certain he will be very pleased.”

Jemma sighed in relief, reciprocating the Earl’s friendly gesture with a humble smile of her own. “Yes, please do. We will be working on our newest invention in the meantime. It shall help the band the King is assembling greatly in defeating Hydra.”

“Excellent.” The Earl spun around, his scarlet cape wafting up before settling on his back.

Just before he stepped outside the tent, the Earl turned back around, gesturing at the two inventors. “By the way? Whose voices did I hear earlier?”

“Voices?” Jemma exclaimed, forgetting for a moment to keep her voice low, but quickly recovering from her mistake. “Well, ‘t was only me speaking, Sir, of course, since the Duke is mute.”

Earl Phillip wrinkled his forehead skeptically. “I could have sworn I heard a woman’s voice and that of a Scotsman of low birth.”

Jemma shook her head, forcing a smile. “Your mind must have played a trick on you, Sir. Maybe ‘t was someone speaking behind the tent?”

The Earl squinted his eyes, a hint of a smile lingering on his lips. “That must have been it, I suppose.”

And with these words, the King’s right hand and his two men left the tent. As soon as the sound of their footsteps had disappeared in the distance, Jemma rushed to the tent’s entrance, pulling it shut, and closed the wooden buttons to give Fitz and her some privacy.

“Lord help us,” she exclaimed, her breathing ragged and panicked. “He’s on to us, Fitz. We’ll be led to the pillory, tortured and beheaded for our trickery. Oh, how careless we’ve been. Oh, if only I were a better liar!”

Fitz nervously rubbed the back of his neck, his blue eyes filled with worry and his voice trembling. “No, no, Simmons. We’ll be just fine. I believed your deceit to the fullest. So God be my witness,” he added, raising his hand as if swearing an oath.

Jemma squinted her eyes at Fitz, staring at him silently, and quietly, the Scotsman lowered his hand again.

* * *

The next day, the king called for every man and every woman to come to the field where the tournament had been held, to witness the formation of the band of heroes that were to set out to rescue the princess from the grasp of the evil sorcerer, Hydra.

Proudly, Jemma stood next to Fitz. Their true identities would remain a secret forever, but they’d both proven that neither sex nor upbringing could stop them from standing amongst the best of the best.

They stood tall, facing the grandstand where the King was seated, flanked by Earl Phillip and Sir Lancelot, Captain of the Guard, who was called The Hunter.

To Jemma’s right was the sorcerer, wrapped in a dark-blue velvet cloak, the hood pulled far into his face. Next to him towered the blacksmith, tall like a tree, his face hidden behind a frightening mask. He was holding on to a weapon that appeared to be a crossbow equipped with a battle axe. To Fitz’s left stood the archer, his bow and arrows shouldered. His face, like the blacksmith’s, was covered by a mask, though less frightening in the likeness of an eagle. And farthest to the left sat the swordsman high on a black steed; a noble knight in full armor, the metal glistening brightly in the sun. He’d beaten each of his opponents on the first day and everyone anticipated the King would choose him as the winner of the overall competition, the man to lead the band of heroes into battle against Hydra, the man to win the princess’s hand in marriage.

Fanfare horns blared and the crowd fell silent as the King rose, turning slowly to look over his subjects.

“It is a glorious day,” the King declared, his deep voice booming with pride and confidence. “For days, these brave men standing before you have proven to be the best of the best, bravest of the bravest, strongest of the strongest, wisest of the wisest. And now the time has come to give them a leader and send them off to rescue my dear daughter, my beloved Barbara.”

The King’s gaze fell to the group of men in front of him and Jemma straightened up, looking briefly at Fitz who was smiling shyly back at her, before focusing back on their royal leader.

“Sir Robert of Mockingbird,” the King addressed the swordsman, and the knight instructed his horse to take a step forward. “It is with great honor that I bestow you with the title of Duke and declare thee the leader of this fine band of men! May God bless your endeavor and allow you to bring my daughter safely back to me. Upon your return we will hold a great wedding feast.”

The crowd remained silent, not a peep of a mouse could be heard. Everyone awaited the knight’s reply, his acceptance of the great honors the King had bestowed upon him.

Slowly, the knight removed his helmet, and a gasp echoed through the assembly, when long, golden locks fell upon the knight’s shoulders.

“Barbara?” the King exclaimed in utter shock and surprise.

“It is indeed so, dear father,” the Princess replied, sitting tall and proud on her horse, and Jemma couldn’t help but gaze at her in wonder.

“What is the meaning of this, my child?” the King asked, his forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“Did you really expect me to wait for your men to come to my aid, father?” Princess Barbara dropped her head back, laughing aloud. “Do you really consider me so incompetent that I cannot rescue myself? Of course you would, foolish old man! But Hydra was no match for my skills, just as the best of the best swords _men_ were no match for me.”

The King fell silent, staring at his daughter with rage.

“You’re blinded by ancient traditions, dear father,” the Princess continued, her voice confident and proud. “You think only men of noble birth are worthy of greatness. Oh, how wrong you are. Oh, how blind. So blind that you don’t even realize when your antiquated ideals are challenged and disproven by your very own tournament.”

Princess Barbara gestured to her side, to the row of men standing next to her, and Jemma’s heart started beating frantically.

“Look around, father,” the princess continued. “So blinded have you been that you did not notice how the band you’ve assembled to rescue me, the best of the best, strongest of the strongest, brightest of the brightest, consists entirely of people you belittle, people you look down upon, people you consider unworthy.”

“What lies are these, woman!” the King attempted to interrupt his daughter, but she merely laughed, dismounting her horse, and taking a step towards her fellow competitors.

Princess Barbara rested her hand on the archer’s shoulder, nodding her head slowly. The archer replied in kind, and lifted his hand to remove his eagle mask.

A murmur rushed through the crowd when it became clear that the archer was not only of Asian descent, but also a woman.

“Do you see, dear father? Your master archer, the most sharp-sighted among them all, is not a noble man, but a woman who’s travelled the seas and climbed the mountains to challenge and beat the world’s greatest bowmen.”

The Princess took another step forward, smiling kindly at Fitz and Jemma, who stared back at her with fearful eyes.

Princess Barbara turned to face her father again, whose face was bright red with anger.

“And the two brilliant inventors who beat everyone in the tournament except for each other? Who decided saving my life was more important than winning the competition and thus entered into a fruitful partnership? Duke Leopold Fitz the Third of Lanarkshire and Baron Jeremy Simmons of Sheffield? What if I were to tell you, dear father, that Leopold Fitz is a Scotsman of the most humble of origins, who pretended to be a mute so that the way in which he speaks would not give away his upbringing?”

“Bloody hell,” Fitz muttered quietly next to Jemma, who gasped in shock, her eyes wide, wondering how the Princess had obtained such knowledge.

“And yet, dear father,” Princess Barbara continued, “despite his low-born upbringing, Fitz was bright enough to defeat each and every one of your noble inventors, short of his collaborator, a quick-witted prodigy, whom you would have denied entry to this tournament for the mere fact that she—much like myself—is a woman.”

Jemma watched wide-eyed, as the Princess reached for Jemma’s feathered hat, pulling it off and revealing Jemma’s brown mane of wavy hair.

“But let’s not stop here, father,” Princess Barbara announced triumphantly, taking another step forward.

Jemma turned her head to look at the sorcerer next to her, who was raising his hands to his hood, lifting it slowly.

The young woman who revealed herself had black hair and, like the archer, appeared to be of Asian descent. She was grinning wildly, raising her hand and releasing a shockwave of energy that surged to the King’s flagpoles causing the flags to blow up with a force of a thousand winds.

The crowd gasped in awe at the sorceress’s powers, while Princess Barbara once again faced the King.

“Are you still keeping count, dear father? Four women, two of foreign descent, and a humble Scotsman have made it into your band of heroes. Shall we take a look at who’s hiding behind the blacksmith’s mask?”

“Enough, Barbara!” the King called out, but he was silenced by his daughter’s booming voice.

“No, father! It is not enough!”

Princess Barbara looked at the blacksmith, who leaned his crossbow-axe against his leg, before removing his frightening mask with both hands.

Jemma couldn’t remember ever having seen a man with skin as dark as the blacksmith’s. ‘T was a rarity in the kingdom.

“Will you look at that, father? Your blacksmith, the strongest of the strong, so masterful, he forged a weapon so unusual and sophisticated that his opponents bowed out of the competition so that he may be rightfully awarded a place amongst the best of the best, is of African descent. Isn’t it a wonder, how the band of noble men you wanted to assemble to rescue your only daughter, consists of ignoble men, foreigners, and womenfolk, including the very daughter you meant to have rescued and then married off without her consent to one of those noblemen you deem so highly? The times, they are changing, father. If you are unable to see that, you are unfit to be King.”

The King glared at his daughter, his eyes spewing fire. Slowly, he turned to face his right-hand man. “Earl Phillip, Son of Coul, how did you not notice such treachery and deception?”

The corners of Earl Phillip’s mouth pulled into a mischievous grin. “Oh, I did, my Lord, but I wholeheartedly agree with your daughter. In fact, I have been in cahoots with her this whole time.”

The King’s jaw dropped, and his face turned the color of his scarlet royal train. “Sir Lancelot! Seize these traitors!”

The Hunter ticked his head to one side, smiling apologetically. “My not-so-sincere apologies, your Majesty. I believe, now’s the time to tell thee that I’m in love with your daughter, and while she drives me as mad as I do her, she can’t deny that she’s in love with me as well.”

Earl Phillip placed his hand on the King’s shoulder, who seemed to have shrunk in size. “My Lord, I’ve been your trusted advisor for the better half of my life. Let me advise you one last time. I believe it to be in your best interest to step down as monarch, move to your country house, live the rest of your life in peace, and leave it up to your daughter to reign over this land.”

* * *

And thus it happened that the old King stepped down and Princess Barbara became Queen, maintaining the byname of Mockingbird in honor of the disguise she’d used to enlighten her aging father of the new world order that lay on the horizon. She married The Hunter and they drove each other mad until their dying day.

Earl Phillip, Son of Coul, became the Queen’s trusted advisor, serving her like he had her father. Queen Barbara gave each of the heroic band of people a position at her newly established court: Mack the Blacksmith, Qiaolian the Archeress, Quake the Sorceress, and Fitz and Simmons, the two brilliant inventors.

Not a day went by that Fitz and Simmons didn’t spend side-by-side in the laboratory that the Queen had set up for them in her castle. Not a day went by without them bantering in jest. Not a day went by that they didn’t finish each other’s sentences and thoughts.

It wasn’t long before Fitz and Jemma’s relationship blossomed from a professional partnership and friendship into something far more. Their love grew deeper with each passing day and some wondered if they’d been created from the same soul.

Soon it happened that the merchant’s daughter and the young Scotsman entered into the holy bond of matrimony and not a day went by that they didn’t confess their love for each other.

And while Fitz often complimented his beloved wife on the color of her eyes, brown like amber, on her rosy cheeks the color of ripe apples, on her hair flowing over her shoulders like crops blowing gently in the breeze, and on her smile brighter than the sun itself, these external things weren’t what Fitz admired most.

For not a day went by without Leopold Fitz declaring for the whole world to hear that no being—human or inhuman, male, female, or in between—could ever be a match to Jemma Simmons’ sharp mind, not even his own.

And not a day went by that Jemma Simmons didn’t look up at her husband, rolling her eyes and exclaiming, “Ugh, Fitz!”

And so it went on day in and day out. Years passed. Decades even.

And they lived happily ever after until their last breaths turned into energy at the exact same moment one day as the first rays of sunshine beamed through their window.

And their energy flew to the sky and into the stars and became one of a billion wonders, one of a billion questions that needed to be answered about the why and the how and the what for by the next inquisitive, brilliant young mind.


End file.
